


Bad assumptions

by RussianWitch



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Collars, Drabble, Emotional Constipation, I'd say fluff but I'm not sure anyone else would define it the same, M/M, pre-porn I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well it could be considered a declaration of devotion and you know the "L" word. Except it leans more towards smut than you know emotions and stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad assumptions

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta'd  
> Part of an idea that's been bugging me for a while, but won't get worked out fully most likely.

Arthur discovered the rush that goes along with exercising power over creatures bigger than him when still quite young.  
These days he blames said discovery for Eames.  
Not so much the forger’s existence on the planet, more for the semi permanent existence of Eames in Arthur’s formerly organized life.

Eames reminds him of a Rottweiler: in coloring; dark haired and brown eyed, in posture; the way he holds himself with his habitual slump and ill fitting clothing hiding the fact that he’s mostly solid muscle and restrained aggression. After he realizes that he’s gay Arthur also realized that he has a type: big, muscular, confident and only when properly handled likely to bend to Arthur’s will.

This is why Eames is a problem: he can be the perfect colleague, professional, capable and the best in the field, but he can also bully when he senses weakness, be a pain in the ass when bored, a manipulative bastard who pokes, prods and pushes at his prey until it breaks with the usual consequence of taking the team he’s working with to pieces in the meantime. This is why Arthur has cultivated the ability to manage Eames under almost any circumstances, that comes in handy when they are forced to work together: it consists of ignoring the man when possible, and biting him into focusing when not.

Only ignoring Eames is as easy as ignoring a storm raging around you.  
Especially when the man wants attention and is willing to work to get it. Arthur noticed it two or three jobs after Inception when Ariadne managed to talk the two of them into going out for drinks after they had finished. Somehow it turned into a full blown binge and ended with Arthur dragging Eames back to his hotel room to sleep it off because leaving him in the bar had been too risky. That was when Arthur learned that Eames’ snoring can shake the bed and the annoying man is a champion blanket-hog.

After that things start getting strange.  
Job by job Arthur realizes that he has somehow managed to acquire a reputation in Eames management. So every extractor who needs Eames to do his forging, all of a sudden needs Arthur to do his planning. It’s almost enough to make him quit and go into accounting as his mother had always wanted. The only reason he doesn't, is because he hates being pushed out of his chosen profession, and he was there first anyway.  
Arthur eventually has to admit that Eames starts to grow on him, after a job or five: like a fungus on a bathroom ceiling…

After that realization, it’s almost inevitable that they end up screwing; only a question of time really, and of Eames waiting more or less patiently for Arthur to decide he’s good and ready.  
Arthur, just to be contrary holds out for almost a year.  
Because really: considering their occupation, Arthur’s preferences and Eames’ talents the Englishman is close to being Arthur’s perfect partner despite being aggravating most of the time.

He doesn't tell any of that to Eames, but does bring the Englishman in on most of the jobs he does from that point on so that he can amuse himself with watching extractors trying to get past his very own guard dog. Eames, it seems, presented with a long term challenge doesn't like others to encroach on his territory even for work purposes.

All of that cumulates in Arthur sitting in a chair next to his bed watching Eames sleep; muscular body full on display with arms and legs akimbo, cock half hard the tip glistening with moisture in the glow of the afternoon sun light seeping through the window. In this particular position Eames’ body is more of a temptation than Arthur can resist: Eames sprawled out demands to be petted, explored, touched. Arthur’s hands itch with the need to reach out. He slips his gloves from his pocket putting them on before moving from the chair to the bed. There are no obligations waiting for either of them, no appointments for the rest of the day, they have all the time in the world and Arthur _wants_ , besides they both really like the gloves.

He studies Eames closely, making sure that the bigger man is still fast asleep before closing his leather covered hand around the half hard cock. A few strokes are enough to get Eames fully hard, groaning in his sleep and thrusting into Arthur’s hand. The gloves are old and supple, soft as butter and smooth, sliding over hot skin as Arthur runs them all over the lovely body on display just for him, teasing sensitive spots and caressing the now familiar angles and planes. A few firm strokes are enough to get Eames fully hard, moaning in his sleep and thrusting into Arthur’s hand. One hand ghosts over Eames’ ribs with the other Arthur cups the forger’s balls slowly tightening his grip on the delicate organs until Eames arches into the touch and opens his eyes.

“Darlin’…” Eames’ sleep roughened drawl sends shivers down Arthur’s spine full of pleasure despite the discomfort he must be feeling caught in Arthur’s tight grip.

“Had a good nap Mr. Eames?” The slow grin bestowed on him would be blinding, if Arthur hadn't gotten used to it with the amount of time Eames has spend in his bed by now.

“Was dreaming of you...”

For a moment Arthur regrets not getting the PASIV and slipping into Eames’ dreams, he takes control of his impulses and squeezes the delicate part of the Englishman’s anatomy in his grasp. “Really? And what exactly was I doing in your dream?”

He only gets a squirm in response: one of those that make Arthur want to strangle Eames, or possibly fuck him until the forger bleeds. Instead Arthur leans in and offers his free hand biting back a moan when Eames laps at the leather.

“Got you a present darlin’...” The words almost get lost in Eames’ attempt to fit three of Arthur’s fingers into his mouth. They do surprise Arthur enough to squeeze Eames’ balls again, this time somewhat unplanned.

Letting Arthur’s fingers slip from his between his lips with a slight wince Eames bats at Arthur’s hand until his balls are released then throws himself off the side of the bed to rummage under it. Arthur stays where he is enjoying the lovely view of the bare ass on display, while he waits wondering what Eames has come up with: the things he comes home with are often strange and always impractical more often aimed at irritating Arthur than not. Eames wiggles back onto the bed with a shallow wooden box in his hands that he shoves at Arthur then leans back assuming a pose that strikes Arthur as overly casual. Arthur doesn't know of a lot of things that can make Eames nervous, he wonders what the box contains that would noticeably set the forger off.

Taking his eyes off Eames for the first time since finding him in the bed, Arthur opens the present.

In the box is a collar: dark brown leather, thick, supple with a double row of spikes decorating the full length with a sturdy ring at the back next to the clasp, to attack a leash.  
There is even a tag on the front; the first letters of name clear before Arthur jerks his eyes away.  
For a long moment Arthur sits in front of the box staring at nothing and feeling much the same.

The moment passes, and anger clouds his mind robbing him of sight, hearing and everything else, except the urge to get the hell away from the box, Eames and the bastard’s sick sense of humor. Arthur shoots off the bed stumbling out of the bedroom and, almost tripping over some discarded shoes, heads straight for the front door. With it in sight, Arthur’s mind is already at the nearest airport inventorying which countries have the best climate for the time of year.

Getting body-checked into the wall next to the door by his colleague/lover/personal cross to bear brings him out of his daze. Eames is wild eyes and panting: boxing Arthur in with his body, digging his fingers into the plaster as if that will keep Arthur from going anywhere. The collar is gripped tight in Eames’ right hand the spikes poking out between thick fingers and digging into flesh.

“What the hell Arthur?” He sounds genuinely upset, confused and possibly more hurt than Arthur has ever expected to see Eames. Still there really is only one explanation for the gift one that Arthur finds wholly unacceptable.

“I was operating under the impression that we had an understanding, I realized I was wrong.” He uses his professional voice, needing to distance himself from the mess, to process and perhaps even lick a wound or two in the dark of night. As soon as he can get away he can be done with Eames and his damn sense of humor and idiot ideas.

“ _I realized I was wrong_?” Eames does a credible imitation of Arthur’s voice while slapping the wall next to Arthur’s ear. Arthur can’t keep himself from wondering how long it took for Eames to get the tone right and why he had bothered. “What the hell is wrong with you pet? I thought _‘we’_ could have a bit of fun!”

Eames isn't lying, but Eames never lies if he can help it: he isn't looking away from Arthur and there is still a hint of nervousness around the bigger man, but Eames is also a very good actor. Plus, he hasn't exactly clarified what kind of fun he was planning to have with Arthur and a damn collar. While a part of him is still busy cataloging weather conditions in the southern parts of Europe, Arthur inventories the actions necessary to bring Eames down with a minimum of damage re-establishing control over the situation. He trails his hand up Eames’ chest scratching over tattoos and muscles until his thumb is digging into soft skin right under Eames’ collarbone. “And what kind of _‘fun’_ would we be having Mr. Eames?”

He watches Eames swallow and lean in, suppressing the urge to sink his teeth into the Englishman’s throat because just possibly they might not be on the same page and Arthur hates being wrong.

“Read the tag again darlin’.” Arthur is released and the collar shoved into his hand, he studies the piece of leather again rubbing his fingers along the spikes and over the tag. It does have his name on it, only not quite: the tag says “Arthur’s”. Looking at Eames’ blushing face, Arthur unexpectedly flashes back to his childhood and the big neighborhood dog that all the kids had been terrified of, but which slept with its head on Arthur’s lap during long summer days, a memory that gets mixed up with his fantasy of Eames on his knees looking up at him...

“It seems we did have a…misunderstanding...” He can read the response to his none-apology in Eames’ eyes, but Eames doesn't move away just keeps blocking Arthur’s path to the door. It takes only a twist and a couple of steps for Arthur to circle and have his hands on Eames’ back tracing his spine and enjoying the twitches his touch causes. He leans in plastering himself against that lovely back, gives into the impulse to bite at the back of Eames’ neck eliciting a low groan of pleasure.

“Done with your hissy fit now?” Eames’ arms reach back grabbing at Arthur’s hips to keep him in place: Arthur reciprocates by sliding his hand around Eames’ throat and slowly squeezing.

“I do not have hissy fits, and you've been holding out on me Mr. Eames. Tell me: do you often give this kind of presents to the people you fuck?” The idea of someone else receiving a similar offer is intolerable: now that he has Eames, Arthur realizes that he very much wants to keep him, preferably on a leash. A shake of the head is his answer, and when Arthur let’s go Eames turns to look him in the eyes.

“Just you, pet.” Eames is smirking at him, and Arthur can think of no other way to get rid of the smirk at that exact moment than to smother it with a kiss. He’s still gripping the collar in his free hand, the spikes between his fingers almost demanding to be used; he traces the not quite blunt points over Eames’ flank leaving red lines in his wake.

“It seems to me: I’m not the one who wants to be the pet.”

“Would you like that darlin’? T’ have me on my knees, following every order to the letter...” Eames slides down Arthur’s body landing on his knees at Arthur’s feet to nuzzle at Arthur’s bulging crotch only to have his head yanked back by the hair.

“You haven’t followed an order to the letter in your life, why the sudden urge to kneel?” He rakes his fingers through Eames’ hair pleased that Eames doesn't shift away, only looks up licking his lips in anticipation.

“Because you want me to, isn't that enough?” The collar slips around Eames’ throat like it belongs there leaving both of them panting. Arthur has never had doubts in moments like this: he’s always been extremely good at reading people, but this time, _from this man_ he needs to hear the words.

“Be very sure you want this Eames. I don’t like losing my toys.” The color of the collar brings out the flecks of gold in Eames’ eyes almost memorizing Arthur now that they are so intent on each other.

“Not going to happen, haven’t you realized that yet?”

Arthur slips the clasp shut eliciting another moan from his...pet.  
A slight push is all it takes for Eames to fall on hands and knees bowing his head to Arthur, waiting for a command to follow.


End file.
